Held in: Chapter One

[2:45am- Held in for 12 hours]

"You know what would make me really happy right now?"

"What?"

"A box of the freshest, juiciest ootoro." Izaya licked his drying lips. "And maybe a glass of water. Yeah, that'd be nice. How long was it since we last had water? I'm thirsty. And hungry. Simon's cheese sushi actually sounds good right now you know-"

"Izaya."

"What?"

"You're rambling. Again."

"I'm talking for the both of us since you refuse to open your damn mouth. Some people actually need stimulation you know."

"…"

"…say something before the silence kills me."

"Simon's cheese sushi will kill you faster."

"True. Or maybe not. The lack of water will kill me faster. Humans can only go up to 3 days-"

"Shut up. Your body will get dehydrated faster if you keep talking."

"…Shizu-chan just used a big word."

"Izaya-chan just dumbed down his vocabulary."

"Shizu-chan just called me Izaya-chan."

"Not on purpose."

"Of course."

"…"

"You're not wearing your jacket."

"Glad your protozoan brain finally realized that."

"You look…smaller?"

"Of course I do."

"Huh. Maybe if you still had your jacket you could have enough smarts to get us out of here."

"….Shizu-chan…."

"What?"

"Maybe if you still had your stupid waistcoat and bowtie you could have enough strength to bust us out of here."

"Maybe"

"And we won't be stuck here. How long has it been?"

"What does protozoan mean anyway?"

"…now you're asking me?"

2 hours ago [12:45am- Held in for 10 hours]

When Orihara Izaya opened his eyes, he was feeling awful. Throbbing headache, aching muscles, watery eyes-all the signs of a hangover.

Or getting drugged. He hadn't walked into a bar since years ago and he knew better to take any form of alcoholic drinks his clients offered.

One thing Izaya learnt from his years as an informant was, if you sense that something is wrong, something is, indeed, wrong. And right now, he was feeling very, very wrong. In fact, he hasn't felt this wrong since the day he woke up in Shiki's bedroom two years ago.

For one thing there was the hangover-ish feeling. Not to mention, the ceiling above him was steel gray. Izaya did not remember his off-white bedroom ever being steel gray. Who painted their room such a colour anyway? All it did was make the place look like-

Izaya got up with a start, immediately regretting his decision. His back cracked rather painfully and his head felt way too heavy. He fell back onto the floor, knocking his head causing the pain all over his body to intensify.

-a prison cell. Or, he thought, eyeing the sink and small bench in the corner, a holding cell.

What was he doing in a holding cell? Orihara Izaya did not get arrested. And even if he was, someone would be there to bail him out even before he made it to the station. As hated as he might be, plenty of people needed him.

Alos, let's not forget the fact that he was drugged. He was pretty sure that was illegal while detaining someone.

He tried to sit up again, slowly this time, groaning as he did so. Only then did he notice that there were shackles on his knees.

Fingering them warily, he assessed the situation. First of all, it was night time. The square window on the ceiling and the smattering of stars that could be seen through told him just that. Second, he was in an unfamiliar place that resembled a holding cell. He attempted to get up, fully this time, and nearly fell over in the process.

Third, he thought. Knees chained to a series of bars on the side of the wall, preventing any movement that might involve me standing up.

Now was a good time as any to panic. He was being kept as a prisoner, his movements were severely limited, his jacket and switchblades were missing, and worst off all, he had no idea how he got here or why he was here in the first place.

Whoever did this, was, sad to say, good.

He leant against a wall, closing his eyes and attempted to remember the last things he did before he was brought here.

Ikebukuro. He was going to Ikebukuro to bother his Shizu-chan. He had gotten up, made breakfast. Coffee and an orange. Coffee had been brand new from a packet and made by himself, orange had only been peeled before eating. So there was no way anyone could have put the drugs in his breakfast.

He had slipped on his coat and placed all his knives at their designated spots on his person, as per usual. Two underneath the sleeves of each arm, above his wrist. Another two underneath his shirt, on his waist. A couple more in the pockets of his jeans and coat.

Now they were all gone.

He was bid goodbye to an irate Namie. He had taken the train to Ikebukuro, and gotten off.

Izaya frowned. By this point, his memories were getting slightly harder to remember.

He was looking for the monster, of course. Waiting for him to sniff him out like the animal he is. Call him flea and throw all sorts of objects at his head.

Except-

Except there was none of that. No trace of the blond.

That was the last thing Izaya remembered- wondering where Shizuo was. Briefly, he wondered if his disappearance and his own capture could be connected. It seemed highly plausible.

The good thing though was that by now, his eyes had adjusted to the dark. And from where he was sitting he could make out another room across the bars, another figure, this time with both his knees and elbows shackled.

Despite the dim lighting of the room, the person on the other side was unmistakable. Izaya had spent eight years of his life trying to figure out that man, his physique was committed to his memory right down to the finest detail.

He crawled nearer to the bars, his body shaking with the effort and strain. Hesitantly, he reached through the bars and placed a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Shizu-chan…"

Thanks for reading! Please R&R?